This year I’m thankful for:

My amazing witty, beautiful daughter.

My adored and adoring husband.

Being an aunt for the first time ever.

A large, warm extended family.

Yarn and knitting needles.

That my laundry is almost done - at least for tonight.

You… DUH! You know I like you. I have your name tattooed on my shoulder blade.

Had my second knitting class last night. When I got home I showed Michael my work, and his comment was, “Hey, wow, that actually looks like somethin’.”

As long as he’s content to think of my knitting purely in the abstract sense, we’ll get along fine, but if he starts trying to categorize it too much, we might get into trouble. My knitting can’t be constricted to the narrow definitions that society puts on yarn. It simply is.

It’s best we not let ourselves get too hung up on labels. It might be a scarf, it might be a hat. Who knows? Certainly not me.

Whatever it is, it has a weird little tail that I never meant for it to have…

Wait! I’ve got it! Maybe it’s gonna be a dog!

Last night we saw The Trans-Siberian Orchestra. By the end of the evening, I was like, “Dude, have you seen my pantyhose? They got ROCKED OFF!”

If you ever get an opportunity to see them - go.

This has been a public service announcement.

You know the kind of people who want everybody to like them? The ones who are annoying, because they try way too hard? You feel sorry for them, because how pathetic is that, right?

I’m one of them.

What’s more, it’s beginning to pay off!!! Yay!

See, I’ve been at my new job for about a month now. I make a point of always smiling at everyone. I’m so friendly that I make even myself puke.

Most people respond in kind.

When they don’t, I make them my mission. I have told you that something is very very wrong with me, haven’t I? Well, it is.

So, my most recent mission has been an old guy at work. I have smiled and said hello to him every single day for a month, and every day he has looked right in my face without acknowledging me in the slightest.*

Until today.

Today when I said “Good morning” to him he nodded at me! No, he didn’t smile or speak, but there was definite head movement in my direction.

Oh yes, I’m making real progress here. And, oh yes, there is something very wrong with me.

* Maybe he thought I was trying to hit on him. I haven’t been aware of putting off any harlot vibes, but it’s possible I need to get my whorometer checked. Hmm.

My uncle Bick died twice.

The last time I saw him alive, he pulled me into a corner of the small room where we were celebrating the holiday, away from the rest of the family, and he asked me bluntly if I believed in God.

It seemed an odd question to ask at a Christmas party, but Uncle Bick was one for getting to the point when he wanted to. I almost laughed when I saw the serious look on his face. Was he doing dead-pan? Then I looked closer. There was an edge of pleading to his gaze that made my lips go taut in fear that I had unconsciously begun a smirk. There was no joke on it’s way. He wanted a real answer.

When I think back on this moment, I respect him immensely, because he made no assumptions about my beliefs. He asked. On Christmas day.

Feeling unprepared for a philosophy discussion and a bit on the spot, I quickly muttered my honest response, “I don’t know. Sometimes.”

This seemed to neither disappoint nor surprise him, which relieved me quite a bit, because I realize all too well that some people can’t take “I don’t know” for an answer.

Uncle Bick wasn’t one of those people, but he did have a story for me. I guess he needed a firm “maybe” on my part before he could feel comfortable telling me what had happened to him a few weeks pryor.

See, he had a bad heart, and he had technically died on the operating table while they were doing surgery. The doctors had revived him after a very brief period.

I knew this part.

The part I didn’t know was that Uncle Bick saw God that day. I don’t remember what I said after he told me. I was stunned and I probably looked stunned.

I wish I had been able to give him what I think he wanted. He wanted me to believe him. Of course he did. But I couldn’t quite do it.

Though I never doubted that he thought he had seen God, I knew he’d been through trauma and had been given anesthesia. You could say I believed him but not his senses.

But, when I think about it now, I think about all the mystical things that have happened to me in my lifetime and how much it hurt to have people say, “I don’t think it really happened, but I’m sure YOU believe that.”

We rely completely on our senses until they tell us things that are different from the norm. I’m not saying I believe in God or that you should.

All I’m saying is that my Uncle Bick saw God. It doesn’t matter a damn bit if I believe it or you believe it. My Uncle Bick’s God existed for him that day on that operating table.

But, what does matter to me in this moment is that I wish I had been able to say “I believe you” on Christmas Day to a man with whom I would’ve trusted my life.

So, today, right after I found out that I would have four more years of restless nights to look forward to, some moron drove up next to me honking and making a “W” with her hands. I guess I was feeling a little shock and awe, because I almost didn’t get my finger up in time for her to see it.

WTF kind of animal do you have to be to try to kick someone when they’re down like that?